


while you were sleeping

by PrincezzShell101



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, Derek apparently likes to watch Stiles sleep, Derek is a failwolf at Google searching, Embarrassing YouTube videos, M/M, Masturbation, Scott can't use an iPhone, Stiles finds out in the most hilarious way, and is a total dork when it comes to passwords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 17:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincezzShell101/pseuds/PrincezzShell101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Well, what am I supposed to do Derek? I am, literally, in a hairy situation here."</p><p>"Yeah Stiles, and you could maybe say I'm going through some puberty issues."</p><p>Or: The one where Derek and Stiles are body-swapped until Stiles can find a solution. There's face-palm worthy Google searches and embarrassing YouTube videos. Also Stiles finds something very interesting in Derek's phone. And in his pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	while you were sleeping

**Author's Note:**

> This idea reeled me in. Hook, line and sinker.

"This is not cool, man. This is  _not_ cool."

"For the last time, Stiles,  _shut up_."

Stiles looks up from where his hands are clenched together in fists on his lap, levelling eye contact with Derek—well, Derek's back.

Derek is also exhibiting signs of anger, fingers smashing down on the laptop's keyboard as he types in probably yet another question in the Googlesearch bar (and with the amount of man-pain Derek is expressing on the keys of the keyboard, it looks like the search isn't getting them anywhere fast).

"Well, what am I  _supposed_ to do Derek? I am, literally, in a hairy situation here." He brings his hand up, fingers touching his face, pad of his thumb brushing over an annoying sideburn of black furry fuzz.

Derek turns around sharply in his chair, enough to have the lever of the computer chair force the seat down a couple inches. "Yeah, Stiles, and you could maybe say I'm going through some  _puberty issues_." His brown eyes are narrowed, eyebrows pinched in annoyance.

Stiles huffs. "Low blow, dude. I mean, you were a teenager once. I don't see how this is any different." Derek mutters something—probably an insult—before turning his computer chair back around and resuming to abuse the keyboard. "Hey, watch it. That thing cost me like a thousand bucks."

Derek makes a noise in his throat, similar to a snort. "Unlikely."

"Oi, don't you  _dare_  make it out like you know anything about laptops. You're practically a caveman who lives under a rock and has no knowledge of technology outside the uses of a mobile phone," Stiles accuses, lifting an eyebrow when Derek growls. "And right now, growling isn't really what I'd call a 'safe option'. If that noise so much as gets out to the pack, your ego's a goner.

Derek's eyes darken which—wow. Do his eyes really do th—

Okay.  _Stop_. He hasn't really explained much, has he? Okay, well… He and Derek switched bodies. Yep. They did. They totally did. Somehow. And it's too bad they have no freakin' clue how to change back, huh? Yeah. His life sucks. Really,  _really_ sucks.

"Dude, you gotta lay off the serial killer looks from now on. My body is not to be tainted by your grouchiness." He pretends he doesn't see Derek's eyes glint dangerously, instead occupying himself with picking at a loose thread that is coming off the arm of the couch. "Anyway, keep on researching, buddy. I am  _not_ staying in your overly morbid body forever."

"I'm not  _morbid_." Stiles actually considers whether or not he should let Derek know that he had just  _whined_. At that moment Derek curses, slamming the laptop lid shut and crossing his arms over his chest. "This is useless. I can't find  _anything_ ," he growls. Yeah. He better not.

"Well, you're something," he says, getting up off the couch with a sigh and walking over to the werewolf-in-a-teen's-body. "Okay, get up. Let me see what I can find." Derek complies, if not morbidly—shut up, the dude is  _so_ morbid—and stands beside him as he opens the laptop, only to see Derek's latest entry into the Google search bar. OMG. " _Dude_. Seriously?"

_**How to get the fuck out of a teen's body when you don't even know how you got into it in the first place.** _

Stiles tries to ignore how dirty that actually sounds when he reads it over again in his head, and  _oh no_ he is  _not_  popping a werewolf boner in front of a former werewolf dude that has taken residence in his body…

FUCK. That just made it worse. Damn it Stiles, you  _idiot_.

Derek shrugs, completely unaware of Stiles's  _new situation_. "It filtered me out."

" _Yeah_ , of course it did, safe search blocks out any s—wait,  _why_ is this in safe search?" Stiles ignores Derek's eye roll—and his boner—and clicks on settings, scrolling down to safe search so he can turn it off. He tries and it doesn't work. "What the fuck!" He tries it again only to see it do nothing. He swivels around, giving Derek what he hopes is the guy's threatening 'sourwolf' glare. "What did you do."

"What do you mean, what did  _I_ do? It's your bloody laptop." Derek scowls.

Stiles groans, not going to bother arguing. Any argument with Derek is futile and everyone knows that.

Well, maybe not Scott.

" _Fine_ , you're innocent." Derek scoffs and Stiles refrains himself from hitting him. "But, either way, this thing is in safe search and will not famboosh itself outta it.  _So_. We're gonna have to start searching  _without_ inappropriate language."

"Whatever, just do it," Derek growls, and Stiles watches him walk over to the couch and lie down, putting his feet up.

"Wow, didn't your mother teach you some  _nice_ manners," he mutters sarcastically, then mentally slaps himself about not being mean. Saying things about a person's dead mother is probably the meanest you can get. Thank God Derek doesn't have the super werewolf hearing to catch what he's just said. He starts typing in the Google search bar, pressing enter.

_**Werewolf/Human body swaps.** _

_36+ pages of results_ come up on the screen and Stiles slumps in his chair.

It is going to be a  _long_ day.

 _Longer if this goddamn wolfy boner doesn't stop howlin' in my pants_ , Stiles thinks giddily, quickly palming himself a little and breathing out a small, soft sigh before focusing his attention on the search results, moving the mouse cursor and clicking on the first website link.

***

Many hours later, 32 pages overlooked with no positive results,  _and_ a boner still being a demanding little wolfie—all of this leaves Stiles fidgeting in his computer chair, trying to focus on reading the website he is on instead of adjusting his jeans once again. Whenever Stiles thinks he's got the thing under control, it just proves him wrong every time by poking its head out from under the waistband of his boxer briefs. Fucking  _werewolves_.

Derek is asleep— _asleep_ —on the couch right now, lightly snoring away. Stiles hasn't actually seen the guy sleep before, so it's a new discovery. Stiles always thought Derek never slept, to be honest. But there it is. There. Right in front of him.

In the shape and form of himself.

He's seen himself sleep before. There was this party a few months ago and he'd got wasted and passed out so Scott recorded him sleeping just for the heck of it and then uploaded it on YouTubefor shits and giggles. He's been on it a couple times and it has like 3,000 views now or a little above that average. Apparently people like watching him sleep? Yeah, now  _that's_  creepy as hell. All he can imagine is some fucked up paedophile on their laptop, jerking one off to the video of him sleeping. 

 _God_ , he wishes he knew Scott's YouTubeaccount password so he can take the damn thing down.

But that video had been blurry—trust Scott to know how to take a video properly with an iPhone—and the quality had been shit. God bless the HD on YouTubeor some poor bastard who wants to get freaky while watching his sleeping self would be in for such a huge disappointment that is Scott le filming.

Stiles makes a small noncommittal noise, stretching his legs out and turning away from the laptop (wasn't really helping him anyway). He looks over at Derek, not quite believing that the guy can look so peaceful when he sleeps. With all the evil narrowed eyebrows and stone-cold glares, Stiles has always imagined Derek to be a pretty aggressive sleeper. Well, the werewolf  _is_ in his body. He guesses that could mellow down anyone's gloomy attitude. His appearance—let alone his presence—isn't that scary, and if someone asked him if he could stare an enemy down he'd laugh in their face and show them that no, it wouldn't work out.

Right now, the proof is all there.

Derek's eyes are closed, face relaxed and serene as he sleeps. Stiles hates to admit it—he has his fair share of manly ego as well—but his sleeping face really does outline how many soft toned features he has. I mean, Derek's cheekbones are probably cut by people who make bloody  _diamonds_ , and his jawline?  _Jesus_ , the guy has such a nice jawline.

Him? His cheekbones aren't really that great, well defined enough but not that showy (and seriously help the people who actually see him while chewing a mouthful of curly fries), 'cause they will  _not_ be able to look at a chipmunk in the same way again. His jawline is eh, not too bad, but that's just because he won't let himself totally diss… himself.

Stiles jumps in his chair—aware that he's been totally admiring his own features, which is  _WHAT?_ —when Derek snores loud enough to shock him out of it. Wai—he  _snores_?

"Fuck my life," he bemoans quietly under his breath, running a hand over his face—hey, sideburns are gone!—before leaning back in his chair. He closes his eyes, breathing slowly when—

Aw,  _man_.

He still has a boner.

"My life, I swear," he sighs.

He stands up, stretching his back—because sitting in a chair for over 6 hours does gruel stuff to  _anyone's_ muscles, even if you are a werewolf—when something falls out of his jean's back pocket, making a  _clack!_ sound on the loft's wooden floor. Huh? What is that? He turns around, seeing a phone on the floor. Ah.

 _Derek's_ phone.

He bends down, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. A Blackberry. Nice one, sourwolf.  _Smooth_. He presses a button and the menu screen comes up. Seriously, why does it  _not_ surprise him that Derek doesn't even put a lock on it? Ha. The guy is so predictable.

"Let's see here, what does Mr. Grumpy have for pictures on this thing." He opens up theimagesfolder and— "Nothing. Honestly, no idea why that doesn't shock me." He exits out from the images folder and opens the music folder instead. "Wow. We have  _life_!" He browses through quickly—there are only a couple of songs—and is amazed when he finds that Derek likes Fall Out Boy. "This is insane, you're a Fall Out Boy fan for Christ's sake," he mutters.

He has never imagined Derek to like any new age flashy rock bands and this— _this_  is proof that maybe Derek maybe isn't such a caveman as Stiles suspected he was.

There is now only one more folder left that Stiles is interested at snooping in.

"Let's see what kind of porn you have, sourwolf," he muses, grinning as he opens the videofolder. There is only one there. Stiles finds himself grinning even wider. "Oh my God, you actually have  _something_ in here." He highlights the video and selects play, not believing that Derek actually has  _porn on his phone_ because this is so classic and he is so going to rat this out to Derek when they are back to normal again when—

Stiles's grin dwindles, dropping completely.

The phone screen shows nothing but a dark night sky with stars twinkling. Well that's before the cameraman must have moved the phone because next it shows grass, the camera moving up as a white sneaker makes its way on screen, then moving more up so there is a jean clad leg and—

Oh, you have got to be  _kidding_.

Stiles knows this video. Oh God, does Stiles  _ever_. This is bad. Oh-so-very bad. Aw fuckin'  _hell_.

The picture is suddenly a blur of movement then—he's on the screen, lying on the ground passed out with his eyes closed and limbs all akimbo, hair mussed up from what  _had_ been: _"Da besssssst night eveeerrrr Scotteh."_

 _"So, uh, hey guys. Um. Yeah. So, this is a video of my friend who's—well, you can see for yourselves, can't you."_ Scott's voice is loud and clear, and it's very evident that he's trying hard not to laugh. _"He got _wasted,_ guys. You really should've seen him. It was  _hilarious_."_ And then Scott apparently doesn't care or can't help himself, because he snorts horribly before bursting into quiet chuckles. Right on cue, onscreen him slurs something in his sleep, nose twitching adorably. Yes, Stiles can call it adorable 'cause it's  _him_ saying it, not Scott who's saying it right now as well as _bunny rabbit_ and _wish I had a carrot for this_.

Yeah. And  _that_ is why Stiles needs new friends.

Stiles snaps out of it and shakes his head, closing the video before he can hear himself slur _Deeerrrr_ as Scott cackles evilly. He  _knows_ it happens 'cause he's seen this many times and—oh  _fuck_.

This is Derek's phone.

The video is on Derek's phone.

Derek  _knows_.

Derek's probably  _watched_ this whole video and saw the rest while he—

"This isn't happening," he tells himself, going over to the table where the laptop is and placing the phone next to it. "This is  _not_ happening."

But it is. It oh-so-totally  _is_. Because his werewolf boner is catching its head on the waistband of his boxer briefs again and his mind just  _won't stop_ wandering to deep dark places where Derek's lying in his bed with a hand around his cock, head thrown back and breathing heavily as he listens to Stiles's voice onscreen slurring very  _vivid_ mental images of what he wants to do to the werewolf. (Scott's chuckling from before is gone at this point in the video and Stiles always snickers to himself when he thinks of what Scott's face might have looked like at that moment while he was filming all of his outspoken dirty fantasies.)

"Oh fuck." He looks down and curses when he sees the bulge tenting up the front of his jeans. Seriously, the thing looks like it's trying to  _get out_. The image of Derek jerking off in bed to a video of him has his cock  _howlin'_. "Oh God, oh God, oh God,  _oh God_."

Stiles can't help it, he really,  _really_ can't.

The minute that follows finds Stiles lying back in the computer chair, legs spread and jeans tugged all the way down, cock pulled out of his boxer briefs. He hasn't touched yet— _can't_ touch it—because the thing hanging out right there in front of him is  _big_.

It's  _Derek's_  big  _uncut_ dick and it's gorgeous. The base is about 8 inches, thick and with protruding veins that Stiles—if Derek was owning his body at this second—would just  _love_ to lick his tongue all over.

" _God_ , what have you been  _hiding_ this whole time," he groans, arousal spreading through him, enough of it to have his cock filling out with more blood, thick vein pulsing before his eyes. "Oh, sweet  _lovin'_ —" He bites back another groan, not being able to hold back any longer.

He wraps his hand around the base, letting his fingers idly stroke up and down the smooth, hard skin. The touch of his hand sends tingles through his body but it's not enough, he needs  _more_. He takes his other hand, gently peeling back the foreskin before rubbing the palm of his hand over the head and—

" _Ah_ ," he moans softly, closing his eyes and letting his lips part, tongue gliding over them to soothe the dry skin.

So, Stiles has  _never_ heard Derek moan. Of course he hasn't. Nobody looking like  _him_ gets a guy like  _that_ to moan, unless the world has morphed itself into a weird and wacky version of  _The Twilight Zone_. But right now, he  _is_ hearing Derek moan—well, it's Derek's  _voice_ doing the moaning, at least—and it's so hot he  _seriously_ has no  _idea_ why the guy hasn't starred in a porno yet.

He rubs the palm of his hand over the head again a couple times, a circular motion that, even without the lube for extra slide, still has the tingles spreading through him faster and stronger, before he lets his thumb play at the slit. It's only a second later that he feels a warm gush of pre-come coat his fingers and—

"Oh my fucking God, how is this even  _real_ ," he breathes, hand that's wrapped around the base tightening in hold. He lets his thumb play at the slit again, pre-come a steady stream now that he uses for lubrication, hand twisting over the head the way he likes it when he's jerking off and— _oh_ , it seems that Derek's body likes it too. Well, heh, technically it  _is_ still him in here anyway, so really it's no surprise.

Stiles finds that with each twist of his wrist over the head, more pre-come dribbles out of the slit. Soon all of it is leaking off of his fingers and coating his whole hand—every time he moves it the wet squelch of contact is loud and obscene, and he can't help but let himself pant, his breathing coming out heavier.

He continues on with that for a few minutes, breaths getting shakier. But for some reason, it still isn't enough.

He frowns, not understanding why this isn't getting him off, because usually when he did this, he'd come in a matter of minutes. He decides to try something different, moving the hand that's gripping the base, down to tug at his balls and—

" _Ngh_ , oh fuuucck," he curses, 'cause apparently, Derek's body responds just like how a freakin' dog responds when getting its balls licked.  _Ha_. Totally awesome werewolf pun right there. The pun though, isn't really helping him ignore the sensations running white hot through his veins, and when he curls his fingers up slightly, rubbing them against his perineum—everything just falls apart.

Now, Stiles has never experienced a wolfy orgasm before so he really has  _no idea_ what to expect. Claws popping out of his fingers, fangs elongating and vision bleeding red is the  _last_ thing he expects. His hands are digging into the chair arms and he hears the material rip through as he chokes out a gasp, hips jerking as come splatters up on his black Henley in white sticky ropes, growl rumbling in his chest as his orgasm rocks through him.

***

Derek wakes up an hour later, yawning loudly and scratching his stomach. In the amount of time between his amazing werewolf orgasm and Derek's nap time awakening, Stiles had exchanged his shirt for another one exactly like it from Derek's closet—the guy does  _not_ need to know what he'd done—and continued to search for solutions to fix their body swap, starting back from page 33 that he'd left unsearched.

"Find anything?" Derek asks. Stiles turns his chair around, facing Derek and instantly feeling awkward.

"Uh—no, no nothing yet. Still searching," he says, biting his lip when Derek raises an eyebrow. Oh God, looking at Derek right now is nearly impossible. He'd freakin' touched the guy's  _dick_ not only two hours ago.

"All right. Let me know when you find something." Derek stands up and begins heading down the hall, probably to his bedroom.

His bedroom.

 _Fuck_. His  _bedroom_.

"Derek, wait!" He leaps off the chair, running down the hall. He gets to the bedroom door, hands grabbling at the door knob as he opens it. "Don't—"

But it's too late.

Derek turns to him, eyes narrowed as he holds up a spoiled black Henley. " _Stiles_ , what is this."

Stiles literally loses all brain function. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it only to close it again. "Uhhhh…"

"Stiles. What. Is. This." Derek strides up to him, pushing the shirt right up to his face. "Because  _this_ ," he points at the come that's dried up into the material, "looks like only one thing to me."

"Yeah. Um. One thing." Derek huffs an angry breath. "I'm sorry! I—I didn't mean to, I swear! It was an accident!"

"Explain to me how getting  _come_ on my shirt is a fucking  _accident_ , Stiles!" Derek yells, and Stiles flinches. He's never realised he can actually be  _scary_  when he's angry.

"Um." He honestly has no idea what to say. The only way he can explain this to Derek is to tell him he'd found that video on his phone. "There was this thing, y'know, on your phone and stuff. I kind of, uh—"

"You went in my  _phone_!?"

Stiles flinches again. "Yeah, uh, nice—nice music. Fall Out Boy's good. Awesome, actually. You got classy taste, man."

Derek's eyes darken. "Why were you in my phone, Stiles."

"It, um, fell out of my pocket?"

"It fell out of your pocket."

"…Yeah."

"And  _why_ did it fall out of your pocket?"

"'Cause I was stretching and—"

"You were  _stretching_."

"Yes. I was stretching. Yeah. Givin' the muscles a good ol' stretch, y'know?"

Derek gives him one of the most flat looks he's ever seen. "You were stretching and my phone fell out of your pocket, so you just decided to look in it."

"Uhhh—yes?"

"Without my permission."

Stiles winces. "Uh, yeah, about that. I—"

"Don't." Stiles closes his mouth, eyeing Derek cautiously as the guy glares at him. "What did you find? Apart from the music." Stiles gulps and Derek scowls. "Stiles, what did you find."

"I—uhm, I found…"

"Stiles!" Derek snaps, jolting him. "What did you  _see_!?"

"Ifoundthevideo!" he rushes out all in a single breath, closing his eyes and waiting for the wrath of an angry Derek that is sure to come soon enough and—

It never comes.

He opens one eye slowly, glancing at Derek.

His brown eyes are wide and he's worrying his bottom lip with his teeth and—

_Oh. My. God._

He is blushing.

 _Derek Hale_ is blushing.

"Oh my God. You—you're  _embarrassed_ ," he chuckles, and Derek turns his head to the side.

"Just shut up, all right," he growls. Stiles smirks, snickering quietly. "Shut  _up_."

"Hey, hey, no worries. No worries at  _all_ , dude." He holds his hands up innocently, grinning. "I now know you like watching me sleep. Consider me flattered."

Derek just whines.

Stiles laughs.

***

The next day Stiles finds their solution and they effectively switch bodies back, no harm done. Stiles is taken by surprise though, when as soon as they've been returned to their own bodies, Derek backs him against the wall and kisses the fuck outta him.

That day had been very eventful. He'd got to see  _Derek_ squirm and moan, touch and lick Derek's cock  _with_ the guy feeling every single thing,  _and_ experience what Derek looked like when he came.

(Let's just say it's one of the hottestthings he's ever seen, hands down.)

***

A few weeks later Stiles decides  _no more_. He is going to do it. Get rid of it forever. 

It is a success. 

He manages to hack Scott's YouTubeaccount and remove the video. Surprisingly, it isn't that hard to get into after all.

"Oh my Go—really, Scott.  _Really_?"

(The password is  _Allison_.)

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVE NO SHAME 
> 
> NONE AT ALL


End file.
